


No Good Deed

by keepmybook



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Morning Sickness, Poverty, Pregnancy, Slow Build?, frequent urination, this sounds like an ad for medication, y'all these tags suck and i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 07:13:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6185480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepmybook/pseuds/keepmybook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I lowered the last test onto the floor, and the blue cross winked up at me, daring me to call its bluff. </p><p>I was pregnant, and I was so fucking screwed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Good Deed

**Author's Note:**

> I shouldn't be doing this, but I am, so here goes.

I’m a believer in the balance of things. Everything is easier when balanced. Our body runs on the principle of equilibrium. Gas exchange is due to elements wanting to be balanced. Balance is essential in life, and so it only seems natural to me that balance is the principle to follow. 

For instance, if you do good things in your life, you will be repaid in some fashion with good things that happen to you. If you are selfish, you will generally receive bad things. If bad things have been coming your way since the beginning, then eventually the principle of balance will come into play in some sort of fortunate future. 

My life until this point has generally been filled with bad things that I know I have not earned in my 28 years. I know that I’m not perfect, and I’m sure that on some level, I earned the bad things that came my way, but for the most part, I didn’t. 

Despite the maelstrom of shit that I was dealt with, I persevered, because according to the law of balance, good things would start happening. And they did. 

In little ways, I was repaid, and it was nice. My theory of balance was a source of happiness instead of stress, and I was happy. Things were going well. But this story isn’t about the little things that paid off all the bad. 

This story is about the week that I spent with a stranger, and the incredibly altering repercussions. 

 

“Katie?” 

I froze. 

On the floor of a reception hall bathroom is quite possibly the worst place that you could want to be found, but I was the picture of grace with my head bent over the toilet, throwing up nearly everything that I had ever eaten. 

I wanted to be inconspicuous, but that was impossible, because throwing up makes sounds. 

“In here,” I groaned, knowing that I was as good as found anyway. 

Hayden’s heels clicked against the tile floor, each one getting closer and closer, and each one tearing open my head that was already splitting into a million pieces thanks to a migraine. She pushed open the stall and looked down at my pathetic form wrapped around a toilet. Of course being the gracious being that she was, she knelt down beside me and pressed her cool, dry hand against my forehead. I leaned in to the comforting gesture. 

“You don’t have a fever,” she announced after she removed her hand and went to the sink to wet a paper towel and place it on my cheeks. “Did you eat something?” 

“No…maybe,” I mumbled. I tried my hardest to keep talking to a minimum, as that felt like it would lead to more heaving. “Oh my god, I ruined your engagement party. I’m the worst. You can go back out there. I think I’m mostly done here.” 

But I was not. 

Immediately after I finished talking, a new wave of nausea rolled over me, and the next thing I knew, I was clutching the toilet like it was a lifesaver. Hayden reached over and held back my hair all while rubbing my back, like the saintliest person that could have existed on this planet. 

I straightened up and wiped my mouth on the corner of my sleeve as gracefully as one can after throwing up at her roommate’s engagement party. “I’m serious,” I said. “Go. I’ll be alright.” 

Hayden laughed and handed me a square of toilet paper to wipe my mouth. “My party’s mostly over, sweetie. Let’s get you home.” 

The next week passed, and while it wasn’t as hellish as the engagement party, I threw up every day for a week. It was at the end of that awful week of migraines and nausea and fatigue where I decided to go to the store and give in enough to buy Pepto-Bismol, as much as I swore that it was only going to make it worse. I passed up and down the aisles in a lazy haze, truly seeing nothing until a dull pink package passed my line of sight. 

So I left the store with a new bottle of Pepto-Bismol, a case of water bottles, and four pregnancy tests. 

An hour later, I had my answer, and I was as stock still as one human being can be. It couldn’t be right, it just-. Determined to call the first test’s bluff, I took the next three. I had a matching set. In cards it would be called a book. 

I lowered the last test onto the floor, and the blue cross winked up at me, daring me to call its bluff. 

I was pregnant, and I was so fucking screwed. 

 

I walked out of the bathroom-well, to say walk was generous. In the past two and a half months, my walk had evolved into a bit of a waddle, and the usually flat space between my hips had rounded enough so that I had to pee every hour on the hour. It was one of many nuisances, but thankfully, morning sickness was no longer on that list. 

“How did I know I’d find you here?” 

I rolled my eyes at the man who was leaned against the wall like a lazy cat, clearly waiting for me to emerge so I could be the butt of his joke. 

“You’re not funny, Jordan,” I sighed. 

“On the contrary, my sweet expecting flower,” he mused as he trailed behind me, looming like the shadow that he was. “I’m hilarious.” 

“Yes, but have you asked anyone else to verify that?” I said with a taunting smile on my lips. Jordan Aziz was the only person at the studio who hadn’t started being weird around me since I was became pregnant. To most, I turned into more of a delicate little flower who needed to be protected at all costs from any danger, which included emotional and physical. To the others, I became a harlot whose baby daddy wasn’t in the picture. This became an interesting and frustrating dynamic. 

“No, but I don’t need to,” he said. “I’m perfectly fine admitting it myself.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in wardrobe, dressing our mystery subject?” I asked. I turned to him as I reached the photographer’s table with the different lenses and arranged them as I knew they ought to be. Jordan fell in beside me, making the work go by twice as fast. 

“I was,” he sighed, as if the phrase could be attached to him picking a fuzz off of his cardigan, “but I couldn’t stand to be in there a moment longer.” 

“What? Why?” 

Jordan pinned me with a gaze of incredulity, daring me to guess. 

“Oh no, is it a celebrity?” I asked. We learned in the business of magazine photography in Los Angeles that as much as a celebrity wanted to claim that they weren’t a diva, they were still a little bit a diva. 

“And we have a winner,” he said. “Any guesses before I tell who?” 

“None. Give me a hint.” 

“Actor.” 

“You’re gonna have to narrow it done, Aziz,” I said. “We’re in Los Angeles. It could literally be anyone. Oh-what’s he in?” 

Jordan pouted and leaned an elbow against the table and rested his jaw in his palm. “Fine. Star Trek.” 

Star Trek? 

Oh, god please, not-

“Oh, here he comes right now,” Jordan added, standing up from his lounged position on the table. 

I turned behind me and nearly fainted. 

“Chris Pine.”


End file.
